Atheists in Foxholes
by afewreelthoughts
Summary: Thomas meets Edward in the trenches before the war had a chance to send either of them home.
1. Chapter 1

After his company had spent a week in Amiens, Thomas had acquired a reputation for virtue. Not everyone in his company visited the brothel in town, but those that did not gave reasons: they were engaged, or married, or they preferred English girls. All but Thomas. He was not about to out himself, but he did not want to lie. This was a new life, he was turning over a new leaf, and it felt good.

That night the only soldier who wanted to "go into town" was a new recruit, Private Easton.

"No point in asking St. Barrow," he muttered when passing the door to Thomas's bunk.

"Wait a moment. Private…" Thomas said and swung his feet over the side of his bunk.

The soldier stopped still in his tracks, eyes wide.

"What is the problem?" Thomas asked, slightly annoyed, but also enjoying the young man's discomfort.

"I want to… go into town tonight, and no one will… come with me."

"I'll come with you. My halo could do with some tarnishing." Thomas smiled and set down his book.

The brothel was in the back of a haberdashery, a door in a wall under a green lantern. Thomas leaned against the stones as Private Easton opened the door. He grinned at Thomas. "You going to stand there and judge every man who crosses the threshold?"

Thomas exhaled a puff of smoke in the cold night air. "Judge not lest ye be judged, Private."

Private Easton grinned again and went inside. To contract some venereal disease he would not live long enough to regret. Thomas shivered in the chill night air. His eyes scanned the alleyway. He saw three men, linked arm-in-arm, set off in the opposite direction down an adjacent alley. Thomas knew the door with the green lantern could not be the only institution of its kind in Amiens, he knew there were other men of his persuasion here in France, and he knew they would have found some way to find their release in safety. He ought to know where to go, should that need arise. He had needs, he was a man after all, but he did not want be driven to find another door in another wall with another green lantern. Not if he could help it.

He could not tell in the dim light, but two of the men he was watching might have leaned close enough to kiss. Thomas dropped his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. He wanted to wait just long enough that they would not suspect they were being followed. As he was counting down from ten, the door in the wall opened, and a soldier fell flat at Thomas's feet.

"Bloody – " Thomas caught himself. "Watch yerself!"

The three friendly soldiers were gone.

The man on the ground moaned.

"I know you've just gotten it in, but some of us haven't and they care about gettin' knocked over." Thomas brushed his uniform.

"Go right in. S-sorry for blocking you." The man got on all fours and adjusted his belt. The dim green light glinted off his insignia. Thomas's back stiffened.

"Can I help you, lieutenant?" he said solicitously.

The lieutenant shrugged. "Don't care," he slurred.

Thomas reached down to hold him under one arm.

The front of the lieutenant's uniform was smeared with mud. He looked down at it and only said, "Hmm."

Thomas brushed him off. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I don't care," the lieutenant said. His face was in shadow. He blinked. He pushed Thomas away.

"Are you here alone, sir?"

The lieutenant stood illuminated by the lantern hanging over the door to the brothel. There were tears in his eyes. He ran down the alleyway, the same way as the three affectionate men.

Thomas waited for Private Easton.


	2. Chapter 2

They were back in the trenches a week later, and Thomas had nearly forgotten the incident outside the brothel. That might have something to do with the new sergeant assigned to his unit. His new partner had a magnificent mustache and a boisterous laugh. Thomas found him crass, but the rough notes of his voice stirred him in a way he had not felt in a long time.

Thomas settled in for a long siege of seduction. He had no intention of outing himself, so he prepared a careful list of every question or technique he could deploy to discover if the attraction was mutual. He would drop them casually in conversation whenever it was convenient.

Paul Carroll, as his new partner was named, had other plans. He cornered Thomas one night as he was smoking.

"Care for a light?" Thomas said.

"Don't smoke," Paul said, and leaned on the side of the trench beside him. "You shouldn't either."

Thomas snorted. "A man has to have a vice."

"You already have one, don't you? I see how you look at me."

"I beg your - "

But before Thomas could finish, Paul had leaned in and kissed him.

"Oh," Thomas said.

Paul grinned. "You like that?"

"Maybe," Thomas said.

"Wanna try again?"

Thomas took a drag on his cigarette. "These are valuable. I can't afford to waste them."

Paul flicked the cigarette out of his hands.

"Well, then, since I've nothing else to do." Thomas tried to hide the beating of his heart with a casual smile and kissed Paul back.

Paul's lips were soft and full, and Thomas thoroughly enjoyed kissing him.

"Good?" Paul asked.

"Acceptable," Thomas said and smiled.

"We got time together tonight?"

"I think so," Thomas said. "Maybe an hour? Twenty-one hundred to twenty-two hundred. If we're lucky."

Paul pulled away from him and stood at attention. "Good evening, lieutenant," he said and saluted the slight figure that was walking towards them through the trench.

Thomas saluted in turn.

"At ease," the lieutenant said.

Thomas blinked. He had seen this man before.

"Who is this you're with, sergeant?" the lieutenant asked.

"Corporal Barrow, sir," Thomas said.

"I'm Lieutenant Courtenay," the slight figure said. "I've just been transferred here with my unit."

"I hope you've had a warm welcome, sir," Thomas said.

"I have," Lieutenant Courtenay said. "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm just looking for my quarters."

They watched Lieutenant Courtenay retreat, and Thomas was surprised when Paul did not return to kissing him.

"You know the story about Courtenay, right?" Paul asked.

"Can't say I do."

"Well, it was in a brothel in Amiens…"

Thomas's eyes widened. He remembered, all of a sudden, where he knew the lieutenant's face. Paul did not notice in the dark.

"I was there with my mates, and there's a commotion from upstairs, right? And then Courtenay's half-fallin' down the stairs gettin' away, and there's a French lady yellin' down at him that it's not…" he bent over laughing. "That it's not her fault he couldn't get it up, and not to come back if he wouldn't pay her for her time, whether or not his knob was workin'…"

Thomas didn't laugh. It was funny, but he found he was not laughing.

The trench stirred with the commotion of men changing watch. Paul returned to work, and Thomas lit another cigarette and smoked it in peace.

When he made it back to his bed at twenty-one hundred, the room was empty. He spent his time arranging himself seductively against his thin cot, not so obscenely that he was being unsubtle, but enough to make an effort. And he waited.

When the door opened, he did not even raise his eyes. The door shut, and Paul said nothing. Maybe he had the right idea after all. Delicate and careful seduction might have no place in the trenches.

"Are you - " Thomas looked up, and saw that it was not Paul he was alone with, but Lieutenant Courtenay.

He sprang to his feet and saluted. "Sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else."

"At ease." Lieutenant Courtenay slid his bag to the ground.

"Were you… expecting someone else?"

"No, it's just Sergeant Carroll usually sleeps here, and I don't salute him."

"Right," the lieutenant said. "I've been moved here until my quarters are… dug out of the rubble. You don't have to salute me here. Please don't, actually. That could get tiresome."

The door opened almost violently. "Thomas! Sorry I'm late I - " Paul froze and saluted when he saw Courtenay.

"At ease, soldier. I was just telling Corporal Barrow here that I'm going to be staying with you for a while, and not to worry about saluting off the battlefield."

Paul looked disappointed. "Right. I believe I… left something back at the hospital. Excuse me." He shut the door behind him.

Thomas began to turn down his covers and take off his boots.

"Has he told you anything about me?" Lieutenant

Courtenay asked.

"Who? Sergeant Carroll?"

"Yes."

"He mentioned a silly rumor."

"What silly rumor?"

Thomas froze with one boot in his hands. He was not about to talk about his superior's officer's erection to the man himself. "A silly brothel story."

"Won't be long 'til the Germans find out," Courtenay grumbled, unbuttoning his jacket. Thomas snorted. "You think it's funny?"

"The - the Germans finding out would make it funny."

Courtenay smiled. He had almost feminine lips, and they were nice when they smiled.

Thomas found himself grow bolder. "It happens to everybody, sir."

"Not publicly."

"No, not that, sir."

"Please don't call me sir," Courtenay said.

"What should I call you, then?" Thomas asked the dark air.

"Call me... call me Edward."

"All right. Good night, Edward," Thomas said.

"Good night, Corporal Barrow."

"It's Thomas."

"Good night, Thomas."


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas woke to see Lieutenant Courtenay shaving at the small metal bowl and the tiny shard of mirror in the small room they shared. Thomas felt too tired to get up, and as he was not being called to carry dying bodies across the fields, he would take the chance to lie in. So he just watched the lieutenant shaving. Courtenay's curls were tousled with sleep, and they stood up at odd angles. He had the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was illuminated by candlelight.

Paul still lay asleep, one arm flung out across the cot that had been moved into the makeshift room carved into the side of the trench. With three cots, it was crowded now.

"Good morning, Thomas," Courtenay said.

"Good morning, sir… Edward."

Edward ran his hands through his unruly curls.

"Want to look nice for the enemy?" Thomas mumbled.

"Well they did come all this way," Edward said.

Thomas snorted in laughter.

"Where are you from, Thomas?" Edward asked.

Thomas sat up in bed and rolled his stiff neck. "I'm from Carlisle, but I was working at Downton Abbey before the war."

"Downton? That's in Yorkshire, right? Were you working in the town?"

"No, the big house."

"A valet?"

"Shoulda been. No, I almost got the job, but the Earl gave it to an old friend. I was just a footman."

Edward had finished tending to his face and hair and was now buttoning up his jacket. "The water's all yours if you want it."

Thomas did not want to appear lazy in front of his new commanding officer. He stretched when he rose from bed and went to the small basin to scrub his teeth and his face.

The dull sounds of bombs echoed in the distance. Thomas stopped, and they stood and listened to them together.

Paul turned over in bed, clearly hearing the noise and reluctant to think of what it meant.

"I hope I won't be an inconvenience," Edward was saying. "Your room was small enough to begin with, it can't be comfortable to have me around."

"I would think this hovel is not up to your standards, lieutenant," Thomas muttered. "Yes, we're crowded with three beds in here, but Paul and I aren't the sort to mind."

The real reason why Edward was an inconvenience was not something Thomas could disclose. Perhaps he and Paul could find someplace else, the next time they were on leave perhaps… but who knew when that would be.

"I can tell I am an inconvenience," Edward said, raising his eyebrows.

Thomas frowned. He was barely awake. For a short time last night, he had thought these sleeping quarters, small and dirty though they may be, might become a place where he did not need to put on the mask that meant his survival. He did not like that he had been robbed of that small reprieve, and the expression on his face had slipped into truth.

"My apologies, sir… Edward. I don't like rising early."

Edward glanced Thomas him sidelong like he didn't quite believe him, but said nothing more. He left the bunk in silence.

Paul grunted and ran a hand through his hair. "Bugger. It's gonna be hard getting time alone with him hanging about."

Thomas nodded.

The mud rose to Thomas's ankles that morning. That was before it began to rain.

"Bugger," Paul said.

"You say that word a lot," Thomas said.

They stood side-by-side, the stretcher propped against the wall of the trench between them.

"They won't go over the top today," Paul said. "I heard that lieutenant mention it."

Thomas knew the army would not stop for rain, but he did not want to say the words, as long as they stood in the trench with no worries save the mud growing deeper by the minute.

The sound of gunfire began in the distance. Paul bit his nails as it grew closer.

"Aren't your hands too dirty for that?" Thomas asked.

"Can't help it," Paul muttered.

The rain poured down now, making a grey mist in front of their eyes. Through it Thomas saw soldiers lining up next to them, poised against the ladders that led over the top. Some jostled against each other, tilting their helmets to keep out the rain and holding tight to their slippery guns. When the order came, they scrambled out of the trench like rats, Thomas thought.

"Look at that," Paul said.

"What?"

Paul elbowed him, and Thomas followed his gaze to see the line of rodents streaming out of the rooms carved into the side of the trench. They climbed up after the soldiers.

"Good riddance," Paul said. "Stay away, filthy things."

Thomas felt his stomach turning.

The first round of machine gun fire hit their soldiers with a heavy sound. They must not have made it ten yards into no-man's-land. An arm draped over the side of the trench next to Thomas.

Thomas hardly breathed, waiting for the call for a stretcher bearer. It never came. At a second round of machine gun fire, about half of the soldiers crawled back into the trench. They slumped against the walls of the trench, all but one who sank to his hands and knees, not caring how the mud covered him. He picked up large clumps of it and scooped them into his lap, rubbed them across his arms, his breath coming in sharp. He lifted his face to the rain. It was Lieutenant Edward Courtenay, profile recognizable between the high collar of his coat and the brim of his helmet.

"What are our orders, lieutenant?" called a voice from the grey mist. Lieutenant Courtenay shook his head.

Thomas crouched down. "Lieutenant? Edward?"

Edward looked towards him at the sound of his name, but his eyes were empty and misted as the rain.

"Yes?"

"Your men want to know what their orders are."

Lieutenant Courtenay blinked. Rain had gathered on his long eyelashes. "My… my orders?"

"Yes. Your orders."

Paul knelt down next to them. "Let's get 'im outta here."

They each took one of Lieutenant Courtenay's arms and hauled him to his feet. Paul led the way back to their rooms, and began to pull off Edward's clothes when they were under shelter.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked, helping hang Lieutenant Courtenay's coat, jacket, and shirt on hooks driven into the earthen wall.

"Never seen shellshock before?" Paul asked. "I wanted to get 'im away before they all noticed."

Lieutenant Courtenay blinked slowly, seemingly half aware of what was happening. Thomas draped his blanket over his wet, bare shoulders.

In short order, they had him out of his wet clothes and tucked into bed, still high enough from the rising water.

"Is this what you do for shellshocked patients?" Thomas muttered. "Strip them and tuck them into bed for a nap?"

"His clothes are covered in mud, Thomas."

"So are all of ours," Thomas said.

Paul clapped him on the shoulder. "Stay with him here."

Thomas did not know where Paul was going or whom he intended to bring back to see Lieutenant Courtenay. There was no cure for shellshock.

"How are you feeling?" Thomas asked, the silence too uncomfortable to endure.

"It wasn't my fault," Lieutenant Courtenay said. "They weren't my orders."

"No one said they were."

"And I'm not... shellshocked," he said.

"Of course, sir."

"You can tell Paul I don't need medical attention."

"What do you need, sir?"

Lieutenant Courtenay shifted under the pile of blankets. "I need to go back out there." He threw off the covers and pulled his trousers down from the hook.

Thomas did not know what to do. The man outranked both him and Paul, but he was not acting sane, and he looked small now that he was naked, slender and almost hairless, curls plastered to his head and between his legs. "Why don't you sit down, sir?" he said before Edward could pull on his muddy trousers. "Sergeant Carroll will be back soon."

Edward fixed him with angry eyes. "I don't need a sergeant and a corporal telling me what to do."

"Lieutenant Courtenay?" came an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the door. Edward pulled the blankets over himself and sat down. "Yes, captain?"

"You decent in there?"

"Yes, sir."

The door opened, and a broad, dark man entered. Paul stood outside in the rain, and beckoned Thomas to join him. The door closed behind the captain.

"He's not right in the head," Paul whispered. "Led his men over the top and into that slaughter. Shouldn't be commanding anybody."

Thomas nodded, the rain making a plinking sound as it landed on his helmet.

"This place is hell, isn't it?" Paul asked.

Thomas said nothing. There was nothing to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Edward woke bleary-eyed, and itching. Sleeping naked in the rough bed had rubbed his skin raw. He felt not like he had slept and woken, but been pulled beneath a raging river, drowned, and revived over and over again. He must have tossed and turned, because the itching sheets were tangled around his middle, his dignity preserved by a scant few inches of fabric.

A small lamp burned in the corner of his eyesight, and soft grey light filtered into their, room carved into the earth and covered with cloth and wood.

It was… he could not tell what time it was. In the trenches, soldiers slept during the day, but he had fallen asleep in the middle of the night after his… episode.

He looked around the room and met the eyes of one of his new bunkmates, Corporal Barrow. Barrow was sitting on his bunk, his eyes averted.

Edward drew the sheet up to cover himself and cleared his throat. "May I ask what happened last night?" He knew what had happened, but could think of nothing else to say, and he had to speak to assert some control over his embarrassment.

"You were upset," Corporal Barrow said. "They had us help you with your clothes and put you to bed."

"Why?"

"Because you were upset, sir," Thomas said, and Edward detected a note of judgment in his voice. Not that he did not deserve it.

"It seems I am always apologizing around you," Edward said.

"You don't need to apologize, sir," Thomas said. He ran a hand through his black hair. It was long enough to fall into his eyes.

"May I have my clothes, please."

Thomas picked up a stack of clean, dry clothes and handed them to Edward.

"I want my clothes," Edward said. "Those aren't mine."

"These are clean, sir."

"I want mine," Edward said, all too aware that he sounded like a peeved child, but he did not like it when they coddled him.

"Right then," Thomas said. He set down the clean clothes and lifted a jacket and trousers from a hook in the wall. They were stiff, and Thomas beat them until the cloth bent.

Gooseflesh rose on Edward's skin as he put the trousers on one leg at a time. "Thank you." The chills spread to the rest of his body, making his nipples hard and his teeth chatter.

"Sir…"

Edward snatched the damp jacket from Thomas's hands. "Stop worrying about me. You're not my valet."

That seemed to shut him up. Good.

The trench was quiet as Edward walked back to where he had been stationed the night before, boots sinking into mud. By light of day, he hardly recognized it. The stretch of trench was deserted, and he spotted a drowned rat in the heavy layer of mud covering the ground. He slowly climbed a ladder set into the wall and looked over the edge towards the German lines. The sky was blue over the pock-marked land. Fat white clouds sat still above it all.

"Lieutenant Courtnay?"

Edward turned around.

His commanding officer, Major Gardner, cleared his throat. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened. Gardner was a small, serious man with a greying beard; standing next to him always made Edward feel like a scarecrow.

"Yes, sir?" Edward said.

"We need to talk."

"Should we go somewhere more private?" Edward asked, his heart beginning to pick up pace. It knew what was coming, though his mind refused to form the coherent thought.

"There's no one here, Lieutenant." Gardner flipped over a crate, brushed the mud off its top and sat down. "Join me."

Edward sat on a crate across from him.

The major leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. "We cannot allow you to keep your command," he said. "I hope you understand."

"Are you sending me home?"

"No. You will stay with Barrow and Carroll, as a corporal."

Edward felt bile rising in his mouth and swallowed.

"Your higher command believes that what caused your shellshock is simply lack of fitness to command, nothing more."

"Lack of fitness…" Edward's tongue felt heavy in his mouth as it struggled to form the words.

"I do hope you understand, Edward."

Edward understood. Fit to be a soldier, but not an officer.

Suddenly, the trench seemed too quiet, an emptiness had to be filled, and if Edward did not start screaming, enemy gunfire would fill the air or lightning would strike.

"Lieutenant Courtnay?" Gardner snapped.

Edward blinked and looked down at his hands. They were shaking in his lap.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep, Courtnay?" Gardner asked, concerned.

He had slept all goddamn night, and look what good it did him.

"I'm fine, Major, I think I'll just sit here for a while."

Gardner stared hard at him, blue eyes in a pale face framed in silver. His gaze was calming, but Edward wanted to be alone, calm or no.

When he began to despair that Gardner would sit there forever, he stood and gave Edward a brief nod. "Stay safe, Courtnay."

Edward nodded back, belatedly wondering if he should have saluted. Of course he should have saluted. Too late now. He tried to breathe deeply, but found himself failing. He should go back to his room. Thomas must be gone to look after patients by now, or asleep. He pushed himself to his feet and waded through the mud back to their shared room.

He paused when he heard the sound of laughter and considered turning around. He could not be bothered with cheeriness at the moment. When the laughter was followed by the soft sounds of... Edward listened carefully... Yes, the sounds of kissing.

His stomach flipped and, without permission, his mind flooded with thoughts of Ainsley back at Oxford, his hands tight around Edward's wrists and his lips ghosting over his cheeks. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds, letting himself float away to a different time and place.

Edward did not envy Thomas and Paul. If he were a better man, he would have someone waiting for him at home. If he were a better man, he would not be alone here. If he were a better man, he could have gotten it up for a French prostitute. He had a lack of fitness for many things, it seemed.

The sounds of kissing stopped, and Edward realized he had been speaking out loud. He looked down at his hands, and realized he was shaking again.

"Edward?" Thomas had pushed open the canvas that cut their room off from the world. His lips were red. Edward wondered if they always looked that way.

"I - I won't say anything..." Edward said. "I am sorry... I didn't know."

Thomas put one hand on his shoulder. "Edward, breathe with me," he said and placed one of Edward's hands on his chest. "In... then out..." Thomas's voice sounded lower than it had before, almost seductive. That happened when you kissed someone well, and for a long time.

"Go back to... what you... you..." Edward trailed off. Why was he not breathing properly?

"Breathe, Edward."

Edward tried. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," Thomas said. "Nothing."

"You know..." Edward smiled despite himself. "When you talk like that, I almost believe you."


End file.
